Chapter Text
Marinette was screwed.
Literally screwed, apparently. Because although the details of last night were still a bit hazy, one thing was made abundantly clear when she pushed herself up from the scratchy sofa, wondering why she’d fallen asleep without any clothes, and peeked open a bleary eye; she hadn’t come home from the bar alone.
Like herself, the stranger lying facedown on her rug—exactly how drunk were they last night if they hadn’t even made it to the bed?—was naked. Though at least he had a blanket covering most of his lower half. A thin blanket, which did nothing to hide the fact that he had a rather nicely toned butt. His back and shoulders peeked out over the blanket, revealing his slim but muscular frame. She couldn’t see his face, but his blond hair was mussed up in a way that reminded her somewhat of Chat Noir. Except there was no way Chat had ended up naked—naked!—on her floor last night, and Marinette didn’t know anybody else matching this stranger’s description.
So Marinette did the only sane, logical thing she could think of. She screamed.
She realized her mistake a split second later, when the man startled awake and pushed himself up onto his knees, so Marinette could see—oh. Oh, she was not awake enough for this.
She looked up to meet a pair of very green eyes—green like Chat’s, her brain decided to note, though it wasn’t their colour that was important here. It was more the fact that if she could see them, they could see her.
“Close your eyes!” she shrieked, squeezing her own eyes shut.
“I did! I did!”
It wasn’t funny in the moment, but hours—okay, days—later, once some of the mortification had worn off, Marinette would laugh about the squeakiness of the first words she ever heard straight from Adrien Agreste’s mouth.
Because holy, holy, holy shit. She’d stared at his face just long enough to have recognized him, and Adrien Agreste was naked in her living room.
Having a stranger wake up on her rug apparently wasn’t enough, it had to be a freaking supermodel. The face that graced half of the billboards in Paris. The son of Gabriel Agreste, whose company Marinette was about to start an internship with. Today.
Had she mentioned she was screwed?
“Here,” Adrien said, and a second later she felt something soft tickle her knees—the blanket. At least, she hoped it was the blanket. “You can have this.” He paused, letting out a nervous laugh that Marinette wouldn’t have expected. But the way her heart was racing didn’t give her much chance to process that before he continued. “It is yours, after all.”
“Thanks?” she replied in a small voice, blindly grabbing what did in fact turn out to be the blanket.
“No problem.”
She scooched over to one end of the couch—with her luck, she was likely to stand up and crash right into him if she didn’t take precations. She then stood and wrapped the blanket around herself like a towel, her eyes still closed as she contemplated her next dilemma. Damn, it would have been convenient to turn into Ladybug and summon her lucky charm right about now.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I…uh…”
She heard him shuffle across the floor while she remained glued to the spot, trying to piece together how the hell she’d gotten here. The mild pounding inside her head wasn’t exactly helping with that.
“Ok,” Adrien said. “You can open your eyes.”
She had to suppress a snort of laughter when she saw him standing there, clutching a pillow in front of his crotch. Her humour was quickly diverted when she noted the definition of his abs, his hip bones, the muscles of his… Nope. She wasn’t doing this.
Instead, she let her eyes wander to the pile of their clothes off to the side. Well, okay. It was less a pile and more a trail of garments scattered amongst the boxes Marinette had yet to unpack—a bra here, a pair of Gabriel boxers there—but still. He could have just gotten dressed. So maybe Adrien Agreste was a bit of an idiot.
“So…” Adrien began awkwardly. He gestured to the pillow. “I thought this might…cushion the blow?”
Marinette couldn’t do anything but blink dumbly at him. Because her adrenaline was wearing off, her throat was too dry, and she wanted to wince at the light streaking through the curtains. But Adrien Agreste thought it was a good idea to break the tension with a pun?
The silence stretched on until Adrien cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, this is—”
“Humiliating. Utterly humiliating.” Marinette wanted to cringe as soon as the words escaped her. Utterly? In one of her most embarrassing moments she’d decided to imitate Chloé? This was precisely why Marinette didn’t do one-night stands. Well…that and her feelings for a certain other blond boy who she absolutely wasn’t thinking about right now.
“It doesn’t…have to be humiliating?” Adrien spoke quietly, still not meeting her eyes. That softened something in Marinette. Maybe he was uncomfortable too. Of course, a second later he had to go ahead ruin it, flashing his eyes up to hers and offering a stupidly attractive smirk. “We can just lie back down, pick right up right where we left off…”
This time, Marinette did snort. “So, you’re just an incorrigible flirt then, that’s it? I bet you pick up a lot of girls from bars, don’t you?”
Of course, the tabloids insinuated as much, but Marinette didn’t take much stock in celebrity gossip. Not without cause. Adrien opened his mouth, probably to defend himself, but Marinette happened to catch sight of the clock on the wall behind him, and panic flooded through her.
“You have to go!” she shrieked.
“I—”
“No, really. I’m starting an internship today. And I already have this really bad habit of being late, which is not something you want to be on your first day, so…” She made a shooing gesture.
“Ah…” He glanced around the apartment, at the mess of boxes and sheets draped over half the furniture. “So, you just moved here then, that explains why all your stuff is still packed up.”
“No.” Impatience curled its way around her words. Why couldn’t he take a hint and go?
His eyes fell again. “Oh…”
Marinette should have dropped it, but something twisted in her gut at the sight of his drooping shoulders. “Well…Ok, yes. I sort of live here now.”
He looked around again. “How does one sort of live somewhere?”
She shrugged. “Well, it was my nonna’s place, and—”
“Oh! Oh my God, I shouldn’t have pried, it’s none of my business, I just…I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you…? Oh. No, no, no. She’s not dead, she just likes to…” The word travel died on Marinette’s lips, because honestly. What was she thinking, assuming Adrien Agreste would be interested in anything she had to say? She let out a strangled laugh. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about my life.”
“Are you so sure about that?” he asked. And oh no. Supermodels should not smile at her like that before she’d had coffee. “I’ll admit, last night’s still a little hazy, but I do remember one thing. You are an absolute delight. Like drowning for years and finally coming up for air. I absolutely want to know more about your life.”
“Y-You. I—Ugh!” She marched forward past him. He let out a squeak and practically leaped out of her way, but she ignored him. If she’d startled him, that was his own fault for piling the flattery on higher than the croquembouche her father had been commissioned to make for the mayor’s re-election party last year. Marinette picked up Adrien’s discarded boxers and a wrinkled dress shirt and thrust them in his direction. “Just put these on.”
He laughed but complied—at least in part. He took the boxers but left her holding the shirt. She squeezed her eyes shut again while he slid them on, and no, she totally wasn't thinking about what his shirt would feel like draped over her shoulders. Or what it might be like to wake up with him every day. Like a routine, where she’d slip on his shirt on after waking up tangled in the sheets of his bed, which probably had a ridiculously high thread count.
She wasn’t thinking about that, because it was pointless. It didn’t matter if she felt a little weak in the knees from the soft twinkle in her eyes. He wouldn’t want to see her again—probably wouldn’t even recognize her if they happened to run into each other at the office a few weeks from now, not that she expected to have much to do with him as an intern anyways.
And she wouldn’t want to date him anyways, because he was clearly just a flirt. And she was in love with Chat, anyways. This was just…an act of rebellion. Yeah…
Nevermind the fact that she had nothing to rebel against.
His fingers brushed hers as he took the shirt from her. “It’s safe to look,” he said, though when she opened her eyes again he hadn't buttoned his shirt yet. So, safe was a relative term.
“So…” he said awkwardly. Oh no. Had he realized she was staring? “What’s the internship for?”
Marinette swallowed. “Look…we don’t have to do the thing, you know?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief. “We can do anything you want.”
“I—That’s not…” She scowled, hoping the heat rising to her cheeks wasn’t obvious. He was going to be the end of her if she didn’t get things under control quickly. “I meant the thing. That people do, after…” She shook her head. “The thing where we exchange details, pretend to care…”
“Why would I only pretend?” He sounded genuinely confused, which…made Marinette’s heart squeeze inconveniently. She did not have time for this.
So, she ignored him. “Look, I need to go get ready. So, I’m just going to go lock myself in the bathroom for a shower” —and likely some more screaming— “and when I get back, you won’t be here anymore. So, um…goodbye, Adrien Agreste.”
He laughed again, and it melted Marinette a little bit. That laugh could have ended wars, cured cancer, stopped her heart. He’s just a flirt, Marinette reminded herself. So what if the way he looks at you is softer than his stupid shirt. That’s irrelevant.
“It’s Adrien,” he said, holding out a hand.
“I know. That’s what I sai—”
“You said Adrien Agreste. I think waking up naked on your floor should give me the right to be on a first name’s basis.”
Despite everything she’d told herself, she couldn’t help but smile. She reached out to take his extended hand, but instead of shaking he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. Another thing that reminded her of Chat. Oh, this was confusing.
“Goodbye, Adrien,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. His smile was still wreaking havoc on her insides.
“Goodbye…” He tilted his head in question, and she realized she hadn’t offered her own name.
“Marinette.”
His grin widened. He hadn’t let go of her hand.
“Goodbye, Marinette.” The way her name rolled off his tongue made her stomach flutter.
He let her fingers fall, and Marinette shot him one last smile before she quickly turned and rushed to the bathroom, locking herself inside as promised. She pressed her ear to the door before starting the shower, waiting until she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Then she sank to the floor, still wrapped in the blanket that now smelled faintly of Adrien: The Fragrance.
She was so, so screwed.
Marinette got ready as quickly as she could once she remembered how to make her limbs function properly. She arrived at Gabriel's office just in time to make it through security and up to the twentieth floor for orientation. Or she would have been on time if the twentieth floor wasn't an absolute maze. People rushed by with bolts of fabric stacked higher than their heads or with faces buried in folders, and Marinette couldn’t seem to get anyone’s attention to ask for directions. She sighed in relief when she finally found the conference room. Then she tried to turn the handle, only to realize the door was locked.
She snuck a quick glance at her phone. Crap, she was late. But there was nothing to do about it now, so she raised her hand to the door and knocked.
Through the glass wall, she made eye-contact with a middle-aged woman standing at the front of the room. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun with one streak of red framing her face, and her lips seemed to be permanently pursed. She didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when Marinette gave a timid wave; she just made her way to the door. She walked with a slight limp, but that did little to deter her. She seemed the type of woman that would work herself to death and then claw herself from her grave to still show up to work the next morning. Marinette wasn’t sure that boded well for her own chances here.
Marinette took a deep breath as the door swung open. The woman inside seemed somewhat bored as she looked Marinette up and down. “Take a seat, Miss Dupain-Cheng. And do try not to be late in the future.”
Marinette nodded and complied, trying not to be alarmed that the woman already knew her name. As she hurried to take the final remaining seat near the front of the room, Nathalie's footsteps seemed to echo with judgement, and Marinette burned under the eyes of her peers. Nobody so much as cleared their throat or ruffled any papers as Marinette reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook. It wasn’t that she’d expected to walk into a warm and fuzzy atmosphere, but holy hell. This place had all the cold sterility of a hospital operating room.
The woman who’d now returned to the front of the room was watching as Marinette looked up. She allowed only the faintest of sighs before letting her eyes sweep around the table.
“As I was saying. My name is Nathalie. I am Gabriel Agreste’s personal assistant, so you shouldn’t expect to see me much after this week. But here at Gabriel we do expect a certain level of professionalism out of all of you” —she glanced quickly back at Marinette— “so I’ve been tasked with ensuring that you’re all up to the job.”
Nathalie sighed again and pushed up her glasses before continuing. “I’m sure that you’ve all come here with certain expectations. The summer you spend here will be both the best and the worst of your life, and we will make no exceptions for those of you who cannot keep up. Statistically speaking, eight of you will be transferred after the first week, to complete your internships with one of our sister companies. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave.”
She cleared her throat, letting the words hang in the air ominously, though Marinette was quite sure their importance was already clear. Marinette’s heart rate sped up, and this time it had nothing to do with a certain model. She knew she had talent as a designer, but she also knew how incredibly lucky she was to have been selected for this program, and she wasn’t about to squander the opportunity. Yet another reason to stay as far away from attractive blond boys as humanly possible. She couldn’t lose focus.
“This is the real world,” Nathalie continued. “There will be no hand-holding or second chances. What you do here in the coming weeks will define your futures. And how well you do with the challenges presented is entirely up to you.”
Nathalie cleared her throat, shifting gears to more practical topics. Going over their daily duties and expectations, and the various things they’d be evaluated on later. But Marinette barely paid attention, her head too busy spinning.
It wasn’t the alcohol from last night—honestly, despite how drunk she must have been, the hangover wasn’t so bad. The shower and the Advil she’d swallowed on her way out the door had taken care of most of those effects. Maybe the water she now remembered Adrien urging her to drink before they left the bar last night had helped, too.
The problem was that, as Nathalie droned on, more and more of Marinette’s memories returned from the night before. She couldn’t remember the details of her and Adrien’s conversation, but she remembered feeling safe with him. She remembered thinking he looked familiar, but not being able to put her finger on why. She remembered snorting with laughter when they tripped through her entryway and she nearly crashed right into a wall before his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. And then he was pressing her back gently against the wall, cupping her cheeks before she rose up to kiss him, and she was no longer laughing at all.
His kind words and tender looks seemed at odds with his shamelessly flirty comments that morning, but even those had been interspersed with weird moments of vulnerability. She had no clue what to make of him.
But none of that mattered, because she couldn’t throw away her career over a one-night stand—and surely sleeping with the boss’ son wouldn’t be a good look. She could almost imagine from the way Nathalie scrutinized her every time they made eye contact that maybe she already knew. Which was ridiculous, of course.
Unless it wasn’t. Gabriel Agreste certainly had the money to pay someone to follow his son. Which was…a terrible thought, but it was common knowledge that Adrien had been somewhat sheltered growing up. Especially since his mother had passed, which was…another thing she vaguely recalled him opening up about last night. And if her heart squeezed at the memory of how small he’d seemed telling her about that, well…she was just compassionate. It didn’t mean she liked him.
As the interns all rose from their seats—Marinette a second too late, earning her another stern stare from Nathalie—to take a tour of the building, Marinette still couldn’t focus. They passed by numerous conference rooms, workstations, and studios, trailing up and down stairs in a maze that would have been near impossible to keep up with even if Marinette hadn’t been daydreaming about a certain pair of dazzling green eyes. But she didn’t suppose memorizing the layout was too important just this instant. Surely she’d get the hang of the place after a couple days. For now she’d just stick close to her peers and ask for directions when needed.
Or so she thought, until the group of interns met back in the conference room after lunch. Nathalie stared directly at Marinette as she walked in. “You speak English, yes?”
“I…Yes?”
Though she suddenly regretted having learned when Nathalie delivered Marinette her first official task as an intern. Of course, if Marinette ever wanted to be anyone in the industry, learning how to communicate with fashion houses in New York was a must. But maybe if she’d put off learning for a couple more years, and could have avoided what awaited her down in the lobby.
Because that turned out to be none other than Katie Bryce—the model they’d flown in from America for this week’s shoot, the most annoying person Marinette had ever met, and apparently the runner-up for Miss America.
“I’m not even supposed to be here,” Katie said, giving a little eye roll as she practically threw her coat and handbag at Marinette when they met up in the lobby. “I was supposed to win, you know? I mean, gosh. I have way more pageant experience than Brenda.” A brief google search on the way down had told Marinette that the actual winner’s name was Brittany, but that seemed futile to point that out as Katie began walking. “And like, the winner gets a five page spread in Vogue, which I should totally be posing for right now.”
“Well,” Marinette began. Only years helping her parents in the bakery allowed her to keep her voice even as she adjusted the coat in her arms. “We’re happy to have you here with us.” She stopped in front of the elevators and jammed the button several more times than was strictly necessary. Couldn’t Gabriel have splurged for faster elevators?
“Whatever,” said Katie, then started tapping away on her phone as the door opened and she stepped into the elevator.
Marinette stared at the panel of numbers inside, wondering who the hell had decided to trust her with this on her first day? Could she even remember her way to the studio? She thought she needed to go to the twenty-fifth floor, but the elevator only went up to the twenty-second, so she pressed that button and hoped for the best.
When they stepped out, Marinette didn’t recognize where they were at all, but any show of uncertainty was sure to allow Katie to eat her alive, so she led the way through the cubicles, dodging the workers running around like crazy, and frantically looking for a sign to point her in the right direction. Halfway across the floor, Marinette had to admit to herself it was hopeless. She stopped, looking around for someone to ask directions.
“Um…why are we stopped here?” Katie asked. Marinette took a bit too long to respond apparently, trying to figure out how to best word her response—she knew English, but that didn’t mean she had much practice with it. Before she could reply, Katie waved a hand in front of her face, not an inch away from hitting Marinette’s nose. “Hello? Oh my God, you’re lost?” She looked Marinette up and down. “What, are you, like, new?”
Marinette suppressed a glare. Honestly, this girl was too much. Marinette had dealt with Akumas easier than her. But then…maybe that strategy could help her here. She could distract Katie. Hit her—not literally, as tempting as that might be—where she was vulnerable.
“So why didn’t you win?” Marinette asked, sighing in relief as she found an elevator on the opposite side from where they’d arrived on the floor. She now realized she hadn’t actually made a wrong turn, she’d just forgotten that the elevator from the lobby didn’t go all the way to the floor she needed. She began leading the way again, ignoring Katie scoffing loudly behind her.
“Um, not that it’s, like, any of your business, but I was totally sabotaged.”
“How terrible,” Marinette murmured. She didn’t even try to cover her sarcasm this time, but she highly doubted Katie noticed.
“Yeah. Like, I was doing the talent portion, and ok—I do rhythmic gymnastics, right? So…”
Katie kept talking the rest of the way up to the studio, which Marinette mostly tuned out. Thankfully managed to find without anymore trouble. As she handed Katie’s things off to the dressing room attendant who was taking care of dressing Katie, Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, that was short-lived.
“Where’s the other model?” asked a man carrying a clipboard a few minutes later. It took Marinette a moment to realize he was talking to her. Her heart sank. How did she keep screwing up?
“I’m…not sure? I was only told to—”
“There are supposed to be two models for this shoot, and I was told they’d be arriving together. Gosh, you interns get worse and worse each year, don’t you? Can’t even—”
“Relax, Guillaume” interjected Nathalie, walking up behind clipboard guy. “There was a change of plans. I called for a replacement, he should be here any—” She broke off as the elevator dinged. “Oh, look. There he is now.”
Marinette followed Guillaume’s gaze towards the elevator and froze. Because standing there—now fully clothed and breaking into a grin as he locked eyes with Marinette—was none other than Adrien Agreste.
She. Was. So. Screwed.